


Sink or Swim

by hillbillied



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Feels, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possibly Unrequited Love, Religious Conflict, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're <i>best friends</i>, first and foremost. And for both their sake's, Don would like to keep it that way.</p>
<p>But this is war - and people <i>die</i> in war. People who you held dear, who leave you regretting every neglected opportunity, every wasted moment . Out here, admitting you're in love with your best friend might be a better fate than leaving it unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sink or Swim

**Author's Note:**

> The slow build multi-chap MuckMalarkey fic I promised on tumblr.
> 
> Because it's great that other ships have such long and detailed fics about them, but I think these two deserve their own. (Not that this will be super long or super detailed, but hey! I can try!)

It's not like storybooks say.

There's no fleeting eye contact. Where two gazes lock, transfixed with each other. There's no leaning across a smoky bar counter or colliding in a high school corridor. There's no music and time doesn't stand still. Nobody holds their breath and the moment isn't perfect. All the clichés mean jack.

Falling in love at first sight is a myth. It doesn't happen right away.

But it does happen.

 

 

 

Drafted is a terrible word. Compared to _enlisted_ , at least.

But he's drafted none the less, as if he'd ever complain. It's what he wants. What _everybody_ _wants_. They're all on a level playing field, sitting tentatively on their designated bunks.

And nothing's really being said, not yet. Introductions are a thing of the past, since their names are all plastered on their chests. A 'LIEBGOTT' passes by his bunk as he fumbles with the laces of his boots. They're uncomfortable, all crisp and new. Breaking them in is not something he looks forward to. The leather feels harder than sheet metal.

The sun's risen and it's almost time to leave. To start training, fighting. _Learning_ , he supposes, but not like he did at university. All of the _one semester_ he was there.  A 'GUARNERE' and a 'TOYE' are the only people speaking, having a hushed conversation between themselves. Every man's left to his thoughts, besides that. The quiet before the storm.

_Georgia is too warm_ , that's all Don can think. Humid and boiling, all sticky bed sheets and sighs of exhaustion. Unfamiliarly warm.

Not as warm as the smile he looks up to, however. The grin shining down at him, like he's looking up at the sun itself. But his eyes don't blister and he doesn't fall blind. He's only looking at a man, after all.

" _Having trouble there?_ " The smiling recruit laughs.

Don makes a noise of confusion, glancing between his laces and the stranger. His expression keeps its frown, maybe even looks a little offended. The grin's still on the man's lips however, so the redhead takes it in good humour and returns that glowing smile with the _smallest_ smirk.

"What're you, my _ma_?"

His gaze moves to the stranger's chest, rising and falling again with laughter once more.

" _Why_ , you need her t'tie your booties for you?"

Four letters stare back at Don, for a fraction of a second. Then they're out of sight with a huff and he's back to tying his boots.

"She'd sure do a better job than you!"

'MUCK' simply chuckles in response, and watches him work.

 

 

 

There's a need to make friends quickly, or at least figure out who to trust amongst the company.

These will be the men charging with you into battle, after all - _are_ the men running with you up Currahee now. Comradery is the _minimum_ requirement when your breaths become short and your back aches under its pack and you think your feet might _bleed_ if you take another step.

Easy's already banded into a tight mesh of men, that vital trust running between them in one unending stream. Where it ends depends heavily on whether a man's prepared to double-time Currahee with a full-pack just to keep his buddy company.

But they've all made friends, in rapid time. Even with the COs. They all trust Winters, for example.

_Nobody_ trusts Sobel.

So when he gives the order directly to their company - "Do _not_ help that man!" - the troopers surrounding Muck pull away with great reluctance. Outstretched hands fall rigidly back into jogging motions, fists balled in frustration as Sobel overtakes with a another bark of terrible motivation.

Except one set of hands, left clenched around the fabric of Skip's PT shirt.

Malark doesn't bother himself with explaining _why_ he didn't pull away on command - is more confused why he didn't even _consider_ it. Disobeyed an order, consequences be damned. And they'd all seen the consequences of Sobel's iron-rule.

It makes that simple action of keeping hold of his friend's shirt a mystery, sweeping Skip's arm across his shoulders moments later. To support, to take just enough of the weight off the man's feet that they can make it to the top.

They do make it to the top. Always will.

Getting down's more difficult, and Malark's not sure his own feet can hold him when they finally stumble back into the barracks. They don't follow the others, him and Skip, choosing the safety of their beds over a canteen break. Not after Luz offers to bring them  both back some chow, at least.

Skip's back hits the bedsheets with a whistle and a barely muffled curse. The bunk creeks beneath him, protesting as he gingerly sits back up again. Fingers running over dusty leather, the man hisses, even the faintest touch  to his boots sending shockwaves up his ankles.

He doesn't dare undo the laces, fearing the pain even the lightest tug will bring.

Malark can tell. Can see the reluctance in his friend's expression, veiled only by confusion as the redhead squats down by the boots in question. He doesn't ask permission, simply taking the laces in his hand and gently, _carefully_ , untying the knot. There's delicacy in his fingers of one handling a grenade - the same nervousness present that keeps Skip's foot frozen in place under Don's touch.

Little by little, the laces unravel, the warm brown giving way to dirty white.

"Is it bad?" Skip asks, hands supporting his weight where he sits atop the bunk, craning his head to inspect his socks.

" _Terrible_." Malark drawls, dragging the word out as he tosses the unwanted boot to one side, "Your feet smell like the rugged end of a juice joint."

Laughter echoes between the deserted cots as Don ducks a swipe from Skip's palm.

They've haven't known each other long, yet Malark hadn't thought twice about untying the man's shoes for him. Hadn't thought twice about carrying him back here, either. Hadn't even thought _once_ about helping his friend up Currahee, it had been so instinctual. So _impulsive_ , arms grabbing hold the moment he'd seen Muck stumble.

Don doesn't want to jump the gun on this, so he doesn't label Skip his best friend. Doesn't even consider offering him that title - at least, not until the man places his socked foot gently back on the floor, raising his still boot-clad one in a careful exchange.

A grateful smile meets Malark's eyes as he glances up, though it's quickly replaced by a roguish smirk and a pair of raised eyebrows.

" _Well?_ " The words are splintered with laughter, and what might be a poor impression of Sobel, "Don't leave the job unfinished, Private!"

Between pulling apart the second set of laces and throwing the freshly removed pair of boots at their owner, Don decides Skip fits the title of his 'best friend'. The man certainly deserves it.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance if any references to Jewish!Malarkey come up. I'll try and steer away from it, it's just such an ingrained headcanon now...
> 
> Anyway; hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


End file.
